


Pride (It’s a Fool’s Disguise)

by stevesnosebump



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Pre-War, oblivious idiots, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:21:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24899116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevesnosebump/pseuds/stevesnosebump
Summary: The journey of sixteen year old Steve and seventeen year old Bucky trying to navigate their way through life.Steve’s pride tends to get in his way. Bucky is a little repressed.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 10
Kudos: 43





	Pride (It’s a Fool’s Disguise)

**Author's Note:**

> most of this fic was fueled by those two tumblr posts about how repressed 1930s Bucky was and how Steve most likely had his gay awakening at 16! I wanted to link them but I couldn’t find them. Sincerely hope you know what I’m talking about. 
> 
> PS i know i said Bucky is repressed but at the same time he’s kind of super cocky isn’t that weird? no it’s not because that’s exactly how he acted in TFA.

The punch is followed by a harsh shove, which lands a young Steve on the ground, on his back. He looks up at the boy towering over him, who could easily beat him into a bloody pulp. He knows he could cry out for help, and quickly be saved by a passing adult who would be horrified by the image of a small, sickly child being beat half to death by a much bigger and stronger one. 

Steve doesn’t _want_ to be saved, though, so when the boy looks down at him with a smirk and asks if he’s had enough yet, Steve finds himself replying with a determined _“I can do this all day,”_ before rising again. 

He holds his ground this time, even gets a few solid hits in himself, before a woman that heard the commotion comes to investigate and, after arriving at the scene, runs the boy off, scolding him for being a bully. 

She asks Steve if he’s alright, and bends down to get a good look at his face and comfort him. When she’s offering to take him to a doctor or to walk him home, Steve—as politely as possible—shrugs her off, thanks her for her concern, and drags his aching body home alone. 

He knows his mother will be concerned when she sees him all roughed up like this; she’ll immediately know that another bully had ripped into Steve and that her stubborn son had refused to back down. After all, she had known that Steve’s life wouldn’t be an easy one once the diagnoses had started rolling in, one after another. 

Using the sleeve of his coat, he wipes the blood trickling from his nose off his face. He wants to look somewhat decent when he arrives home, doesn’t want his ma to collapse at the sight of him. 

When he enters the small apartment, the first thing he hears is Bucky’s voice. He could recognize that voice from a mile away, if he needed to. 

Hearing the voice makes him forget all about how obvious it is that he had just gotten into a scrap. He waltzes into the apartment and straight to the living room, where his mom and Bucky are sitting on the sofa. They look up when they heard his footsteps, and the looks on their faces make Steve remember how awful he looks. 

“Oh, Steve,” his ma cries, nearly jumping out of her seat to walk over to him, gently grabbing his face and examining it. 

“Just can’t stay out of trouble, can ya?” Bucky chides, walking over too. 

“I’m okay, ma. And I can stay out of trouble just fine, Buck. This guy was asking for it.” 

“I bet he was. Hope that black eye’ll be worth it.” 

“Stevie,” his ma cuts in before he can respond, “I admire your courage, I really do, but this scares me sometimes.” 

Hearing those words leave her lips, Steve feels guilty. He’d gotten his moral compass and his stubbornness from her, knew she was proud of him when he stood up for himself and for others, but he’d never considered how she must feel as a protective mother. 

He wants to promise her that he’ll be careful, will stop starting arguments with boys ten times his size, but he can’t. He’d be lying if he told her that, and he hates lying to his mom. So he offers her a weak smile and a tight hug instead, with an “I love you” whispered in her ear. 

Bucky had slipped out of the room to run a washcloth under the tap, and when he returns, he silently offers it up to Steve with a gentle smile, knowing that Steve and his ma need to share this moment. 

Steve gratefully accepts the washcloth once his ma pulls away from the hug, and he dabs it under his nose, where the blood is already drying up. 

Bucky lingers there for a while, hands shoved into his pockets, watching Steve clean his face while Sarah watches with an expression mixed with pride and sorrow. 

He isn’t sure of what to do now. He’s close with the both of them, has known Steve for a few years now and visits everyday, but still, he feels as though he’s intruding on an intimate moment between a mother and her son. 

“Guess I’ll head out—“

“Why?” Steve interrupts. 

Both Steve and Sarah are looking at him now, heads having whipped in his direction the moment they heard the words leave his mouth. 

“Don’t leave, you know we’re always happy to have you. You’re family,” Sarah gives him a kind smile and pats his cheek. 

It almost makes Bucky feel foolish for thinking he was intruding—he’s a part of this family, has been for a few years now. Everyday, he either visits them or Steve comes to visit him and his family. How could he possibly be intruding? 

He agrees to stay for dinner, knowing his parents won’t be concerned about his whereabouts—they know that “I’m headed to Steve’s” means he’ll be gone for hours. 

Dinner is a simple and modest stew, but, as Bucky and Steve repeatedly assure Sarah, it tastes delicious. It warms Bucky’s gut and makes something in his brain light up. He’s a simple boy who enjoys the little things in life, like eating a tasty meal with two people he considers family. 

Eating is quite a struggle for Steve, face still sore from the fist it had repeatedly made contact with only a few hours before, but he can still appreciate his ma’s quick work in fixing up a warm meal and the presence of Bucky’s body in the chair beside him. 

When their meal is over, Steve and Bucky assure Sarah that they can handle washing the dishes so she can rest. She kisses them both on the cheek, cooing that she’s so grateful for the both of them, and retires to the living room, where she can put her feet up and relax. 

Steve takes to washing and assigns Bucky the task of drying and putting the dishes up. They work harmoniously in comfortable silence until Bucky, waiting for Steve to finish cleaning a particularly stubborn plate, clears his throat before speaking. 

“Steve,” he begins, leaning against the counter. “Why do you keep getting in fights like this? Makes me feel like I should be watching over you...”

“Don’t need a babysitter,” Steve grumbles, tightening his hold on the sponge and scrubbing even harder. 

“I didn’t say you did. I just feel like maybe I need to help you out—“

“Don’t need help, either.” The scrubbing intensifies. 

“Sure you do. Your ma and I both hate seeing you like this. I just don’t think there’s any reason for you to be getting into fights like this. But I know you love this vigilante justice thing you have going on, so at least let me be by your side.” 

Steve finally gets the plate clean enough to be satisfied, so he hands it to Bucky to dry off. 

“You can be by my side. But from a distance,” Steve declares as he pulls the stopper to drain the sink. 

That’s a compromise Bucky can easily accept. 

“Sure. I can be by your side. You know I’ll be with you every step of the way, though. To the end of the line.” 

“To the end of the line?” Steve questions with a smile. 

“Always.” 

From that point on, it becomes a sort of vow between the two of them. A promise to keep one another safe and stick together until they can’t stick together any longer.  
——  
Months after he turns sixteen, Sarah’s death hits Steve harder than any bully in a back alley ever could. 

He doesn’t want anyone to know how much he’s hurting. He does his best to hold his tears in during her funeral and, when it ends, he ducks away from adults with sympathetic words on their tongues and makes his way home alone.

He feels Bucky’s presence behind him—knows it has to be Bucky because it couldn’t possibly be anyone else—but he still doesn’t speak. He clenches his jaw tight to keep himself from breaking down right there in the middle of a Brooklyn sidewalk. 

Bucky silently trails behind him for a while, doesn’t say a word until they start walking up the stairs to Steve’s level. He starts off gentle so Steve doesn’t crack, simply tells him his folks and him had looked for Steve so they could give him a ride home, and then he gently asks how the funeral was. Steve’s voice stays strong, doesn’t crack with emotion once, but Bucky knows him well enough to identify the sadness buried in his tone. 

“I know what you’re gonna say, Buck,” Steve mumbles when they reach his door. 

And, just as Steve suspected he would, Bucky invites Steve to stay at his place, but tries to make the offer seem lighthearted by listing off chores Steve could do to pay him back for his kindness. 

Steve doesn’t respond, just checks his pockets for his key and silently curses his pride for making him choose loneliness over comfort. 

“Come on,” Bucky pleads, turning to kick the rock Sarah always hid the spare key under. 

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve takes the key from Bucky’s outstretched hand. “But I can get by on my own.” 

Bucky was expecting the comment, but it still felt like a knife in the gut when it left Steve’s lips. He hates when Steve talks like that, hates that Steve always lets his pride get in the way. Bucky completely understands why Steve acts like that: he hates being seen as weak because of his size and ailments. When people coddle you, it’s because they think you’re too weak to take care of yourself. Steve isn’t weak, anyone who truly knows him _knows_ that, but Steve, stubborn little Steve, is always going out of his way to prove himself to everyone. It drives Bucky mad, but he knows he’ll never understand how underestimated Steve feels. So he pushes his frustration down and ignores the pang in his heart. 

“The thing is...you don’t have to,” Bucky clasps his right hand on Steve’s small shoulder. “I’m with you til the end of the line, pal.” 

Steve sighs and feels the tension rush out of his body with it. Maybe he should let himself be looked after every once in a while, should stop thinking every act of kindness is someone assuming he’s weak and needs a savior. He should let Bucky be by his side. With his ma gone, he needs the support more than ever. Steve doesn’t say a word, just gives Bucky a small smile and a slight nod. He tries not to show it, but the reminder relieves him. He knows that as long as Bucky is by his side, he’ll never be alone, no matter how much he loses throughout his life. 

Bucky doesn’t even need Steve to say a single word. He hears everything Steve is telling him through his silence. 

Steve, back turned to Bucky, unlocks the door and mumbles a low, “wait here,” as he steps inside. He shivers when he enters, still not used to the darkness and silence looming in the apartment without his mother. 

He quickly grabs a few of his belongings and rushes out of the apartment, eager to rejoin Bucky and spend the night surrounded by living, breathing people instead of the echoes of his hauntingly quiet apartment. 

Bucky tosses an arm over Steve’s shoulder, a gesture that feels much more gentle and borderline _intimate_ than it looks. Steve wraps his left arm around Bucky’s waist, and they walk like that all the way to Bucky’s home. 

——  
When the moon takes the sun’s place and the stars begin to shine, Steve finds himself in Bucky’s bed, listening to him ramble on about Howard Stark’s latest promise of a flying car. 

“Are you cold?” Bucky cuts himself off when he notices Steve shivering out the corner of his eye. 

“No,” Steve lies as he tries to force his body to stop shivering. 

Bucky sits up and watches Steve for a moment, trying to figure out if he had just been seeing things or if Steve really is cold. 

When he notes the way Steve is clutching onto the blanket the two of them are sharing so it won’t leave his body, he immediately gets up and grabs another blanket from his closet. 

He tucks Steve in nice and snug, ignoring disgruntled complaints of “I can do it myself, Buck.” 

“There you go, that should warm you right up,” satisfied with his work, Bucky climbs back into the bed. Even though he’s not shivering anymore, Bucky still presses his body close to Steve’s. When Steve doesn’t object to their sudden proximity, he wraps his arms around him and pulls him in even closer. 

“This okay?” 

Steve hums in response before he drifts off to sleep. He thinks he feels Bucky lightly press his lips to his forehead, but he doesn’t bother questioning it. For the first time in a long, long time, he enjoys being held and cared for. 

When Bucky slips out of bed in the morning, the first thing he does is fix Steve a mug of hot chocolate, just in case he’s still cold—the autumn breeze is quite cold this time of year, and their heater is still broken. Steve is groggy when he wakes up to Bucky handing him the mug, but he still manages to smile up at him as he sits up to accept the hot drink. For once, he doesn’t complain about being babied. 

They sit together while Steve finishes his drink, Bucky finishing his ramblings about Stark’s newest inventions while Steve makes a few impressed noises in between sips. 

They join Bucky’s parents for breakfast, an event that’s slightly rushed due to the fact that they have to leave for work soon. As they’re clearing up the table, Bucky’s parents assure Steve that he can stay for as long as he’d like, since they understand he likely wouldn’t want to be alone in his apartment grieving the death of his mother. Bucky’s hand reaches under the table to give Steve’s thigh a reassuring squeeze. Steve places a hand on top of his. If Bucky’s parents notice, they don’t say a word. 

They wash the dishes together, falling into their usual routine of Steve doing the washing and Bucky doing the drying. 

Maybe Steve comes up with every excuse in the world to touch Bucky. Maybe he lets the touches linger for too long. Maybe Bucky doesn’t mind it at all. 

Steve drains the sink and dries off his hands while he waits for Bucky to put the last of the dishes up. When he turns back to Steve, they both stand still, completely silent. Steve hears the blood rushing through his ears, can feel his heart beating fast enough to leap through his own chest. Despite every ounce of his body telling him it’s an awful idea, Steve walks up to Bucky, stands on his tiptoes, places his hands on the nape of Bucky’s neck, and gently presses their lips together. 

Bucky responds almost immediately, wraps his arms around Steve’s back and pulls him in closer so there isn’t any space left between them. 

The kiss ends slowly, as if they’re both hesitant to stop. They look into each other’s eyes, wondering who will be first to break the silence. 

It’s Steve who breaks it first, eyes starting to fill with tears as he stutters out a quiet, “I...I think...” 

“You’re just sad,” Bucky responds, removing his arms from Steve and taking a step back once Steve removes his. “You needed some comfort. It’s okay,” he walks out of the kitchen before Steve can respond. 

Steve stands still, unsure of how to react to whatever had just happened. Bucky hadn’t outright rejected him—he wouldn’t have reciprocated the kiss if he didn’t feel comfortable—but Bucky had refused to take it any further. Maybe he should be grateful for that. Maybe Bucky’s right—Steve is just sad, and is trying to find comfort in the form of intimacy. He misses his ma’s warm hugs and bright smile so much that he’s trying to find those qualities in someone else. He only kissed Bucky because he was present and willing. 

He promises himself he won’t make that mistake again. 

——  
He tries not to notice how Bucky is avoiding eye contact with him. It’s impossible to miss, though, and it makes him feel so fucking _guilty_. If he hadn’t pulled that stupid stunt in the kitchen that morning, he wouldn’t be in this situation. Him and Bucky would be joking around, enjoying themselves, maybe even planning a trip to the movies or _something_. But now he has to awkwardly sit on the couch while Bucky watches some random tv program without so much as muttering a word to Steve. And they’re sitting so far apart—Steve can’t even recount the last time they’ve sat next to each other without their knees knocking together, but they are now. 

He feels horrible. He wants to apologize but doesn’t know where to start, can hardly even open his mouth to force the words out. Yesterday he had to bury his mother; today he has to bury a lifelong friendship. 

“Buck—“

“Let’s go dancing,” Bucky interrupts, practically jumping off the couch.

“Dancing?” Steve is standing now, too, so relieved by Bucky’s good mood that he doesn’t even think to question it. 

“Sure! It’ll be fun. Let’s go,” he doesn’t waste any time grabbing his coat off the rack and scribbling out a quick note for his parents to find when they come home. 

As it turns out, when Bucky had proposed going dancing, he hadn’t meant him and Steve would stick together. The second they arrived, Bucky was charming the first dame he saw—a beautiful blonde—and the two of them marched straight onto the dance floor. 

The moment Bucky left his side, Steve realized how completely out of his element he was. It wouldn’t matter if Bucky was with him, he could easily enjoy himself and get on the dance floor without a care in the world. 

But, it’s clear that Bucky is far more interested in a woman whose name he didn’t even know yet. So Steve sits down in an uncomfortable chair at an empty table and watches as Bucky twirls the woman ‘round and ‘round. 

Steve manages to grin and bear it until the end of the third song, which is when Bucky suddenly cups the dame’s face and kisses her with every fiber of his being. That’s when a familiar lump forms in Steve’s throat. He watches as the kiss deepens, sees Bucky’s tongue slip into her mouth and that’s when he’s had enough. He gets up and weaves through the crowd until he reaches the exit, tears blurring his vision and threatening to spill the whole way. He hugs himself tight and walks to his apartment. He’d rather spend the night in his ma’s presence than Bucky’s. 

He lies down in his small bed and tries not to compare it to the warmth of Bucky’s bed he’d felt only one night before. So much had changed over the past few days, the past few _hours_ , even, and it made him miss the simplicity of life he’d had before. 

He can’t get his ma back. He knows that. And he’s afraid of what his reaction to Bucky and his new girl means for their friendship. He should be happy for Bucky, but he can’t stop thinking about the kiss they’d shared in the kitchen that morning. 

He doesn’t get much sleep that night. 

——  
A flurry of knocks are nearly bringing his door down when Steve wakes up. He’s groggy, heavy bags under eyes that are bloodshot from crying so much. 

“Who is it?” He calls from in front of the door, not willing to open it and risk some crazed stranger hurting him. 

“It’s Bucky!” 

Steve freezes in place. He hadn’t expected Bucky to care, thought they’d just go their separate ways and that’d be the end of it. Clearly he was wrong. 

His heart starts racing and he feels a little lightheaded, but he opens the door anyway. 

The sight of Bucky alarms him—he looks completely disheveled, eyes rimmed red and hair tousled, wearing the same clothes he wore last night. 

“Buck, what—“ 

“You left last night,” Bucky responds, pushing past Steve to walk into the apartment. 

“Surprised you noticed,” Steve grumbles, shutting the door before turning to face Bucky again. 

“Of course I noticed. Don’t talk like that.” 

“Well, you looked real preoccupied last night. I didn’t wanna sit there and wait for you while you had your fun,” Steve hisses, voice full of venom. He’s fired up, now, feels the adrenaline coursing through his veins and revels in finally feeling _angry_ again when he’d been sad for so long. 

“What, I can’t go out and enjoy myself now?” Bucky yells back. Suddenly, he’s stepping forward so he’s standing a bit closer to Steve. His voice is husky when he asks, “You jealous?” 

The atmosphere shifts with that question. The blood stops roaring in Steve’s ears, and the apartment drops into an eerie silence as Bucky awaits an answer. Is Steve jealous? 

“No,” he answers, voice nearly a whisper. 

Neither one of them knows when it happened, but now they’re standing way too close to one another, almost like a gravitational pull has forced their bodies together. 

Bucky places a hand on Steve’s lower back. Voice still low, he echoes, “No?” 

Steve shakes his head, unwilling to admit the realization he’d come to that, yes, he _was_ jealous, and that was why his gut had started pulling when he saw Bucky’s tongue in that blonde’s mouth. Jealously is an ugly thing. 

“‘Course you’re not. You’d never get jealous of a dame, would you?” 

Steve shakes his head again, and he swears he can see Bucky slowly leaning in, as if he wants to press his lips to Steve’s again—an apology for kissing someone else. 

They’re close, now, Bucky’s lips ghosting over Steve’s, but they never connect. Instead, he takes his hand off Steve’s back and steps back. 

“You stayin’ here or comin’ back home with me? My folks were worried when I came home without you.” 

Steve feels dizzy, confused by the complete one-eighty this encounter has just taken. He’s almost convinced it never happened, that he’d hallucinated the whole thing, but he knows that isn’t true when he sees the mischievous glint in Bucky’s eyes. 

“I’ll go with you. Not used to being home alone like this.” 

“Should probably pack up your stuff then. Just live with us. Heard my folks sayin’ the landlord is eager to sell this place.” 

Steve looks around the apartment, tries to imagine the next family that might live in it, how they’d sit at the dinner table with splintered wood, or on the couch with its loose springs poking at them, or lie in his small bed on the stiff mattress that makes his back ache. He hopes they’ll love it as much as he has. He knows it isn’t much, but it’s always been enough for him and his ma. He hopes it’ll be enough for the next family, too. 

He takes his time packing his bags, really tries to take in his last moments in the only apartment he’s ever known. He feels a bit uneasy at first, almost feels as though he’s leaving his dear ma behind, but he knows that’s not true. She’ll come with him, her memory will be honored by himself and Bucky and his parents. 

Bucky helps him pack the last of his things, and then they’re walking to Bucky’s place again—Steve’s new home—just as they had two days before. 

Steve doesn’t mention the fight they’d gotten into only a few moments before. Bucky doesn’t, either. 

He wants to ask Bucky what happened after he left—wants to know if he went back home after or if he spent some quality time with his new lady friend—but he isn’t sure if he should. He doesn’t wanna get into a big fight again, and he doesn’t need Bucky asking him if he’s jealous again, but he wishes he knew the answer. 

——  
A few months go by peacefully. Bucky’s parents make Steve feel right at home, which eases his worries about being another burden on them and keeps him from slipping into a dark tunnel of loneliness and misery. Steve never sees that blonde girl again, and Bucky doesn’t mention her. They don’t fight, aside from petty little squabbles about whose turn it is to take out the trash. 

It’s in January, only a few days after they ring in the year 1935, when everything goes to shit. 

Bucky’s parents both die, first his dad, and then his ma dies before his dad is even cold in the ground. It’s hard on Bucky, being thrust into the real world so suddenly. 

He doesn’t cry at his ma’s funeral because he’s too numb to. Steve watches him the entire time, clutching a tissue so he can pass it to Bucky as soon as it’s needed. He ends up having to use it for himself. 

He expects Bucky to lose it and start sobbing at some point, but it never happens. He stares blankly when people walk over and give him their condolences. His arms stay limp at his sides when people try to hug him. 

He doesn’t react when the service ends, so Steve has to grab a hold of his arm and explain that they can leave. It’s clear that Bucky heard Steve, since he gets up and begins to walk with him, but his face is still completely blank and he doesn’t say a word. 

Steve takes care of him. He lets Bucky’s boss know that he has to take a few days off because he’s grieving. He cooks for Bucky and helps him bathe and wash his hair. He draws and sells more of his art so Bucky doesn’t have to worry about them not having enough money to get by. 

Most importantly, he waits. He’s patient with Bucky, doesn’t get frustrated when he doesn’t want to speak or when he can hardly get out of bed. He’s there for him every step of the way, and when the tears finally fall, Steve is right there to catch them. 

——  
They have to move out to their own little apartment, eventually. Without the salaries of Bucky’s parents, they just can’t afford to live there anymore. 

They have just enough saved up between the two of them to afford a small little apartment. It’s not the fanciest place, but it’s home. That’s enough for them. They have to share a bed in a compact little bedroom, but that’s not an issue. This bed is a bit smaller than the one Bucky had in his home, but they’re used to sleeping in the same bed, so they make it work. 

If Bucky’s body always finds itself pressing into Steve’s in the middle of the night, a hand resting on his little belly, they don’t mention it. 

And if Steve’s heart swells every time Bucky teases him about being his little housewife whenever he comes home to a warm meal, they don’t mention that either. 

When they cuddle up to one another in bed, Bucky tells Steve he’s doing it for the greater good, so Steve won’t have to wake up shivering when his anemia starts acting up in the middle of the night. They both know that’s not true, but they don’t need to talk about that. 

They don’t need to talk about that one late night in the kitchen—when Steve’s sweet tooth got the best of him and he baked cookies—how Bucky grabbed him and they slow danced to the music in their heads as they waited for the cookies to finish. 

They also don’t need to talk about how they ate the remaining cookie dough off the spoons and kissed one another breathless when Bucky told him the only thing sweeter than cookie dough must be Steve’s lips. 

Both of them wordlessly decide that none of that needs to be discussed, not even when Bucky starts going dancing more frequently, a new dame on his arm nearly every week. 

At least, not until one fateful night, when Bucky shows up with lips stained red and disheveled hair and the lingering smell of perfume on his collar. That’s when Steve wants to discuss it. 

He’s heartbroken when he sees Bucky walk through the door. He’s a little tipsy, enough alcohol in his system to make him a little clumsy, but not enough to completely disorient him. Steve’s glad when he takes note of that, because it means that they can finally have this conversation, and Bucky will be able to remember it in the morning. 

“Who were you with?” 

“Some girl,” Bucky mumbles, yanking his shoes off. 

“Do you know her name?” 

“No,” he’s untying his tie now, letting it hang around his neck. 

“Well you clearly enjoyed her company,” Steve sasses back, placing his hands on his hips. 

“Do we really have to fight about this? I don’t want to fight tonight, Stevie.” 

Steve removes his hands from his hips so he doesn’t look as angry. “I don’t wanna fight, either. But I want to talk.” 

Bucky knows that that’s completely fair, knows that their communication has been awful lately and his behavior’s been a bit erratic. Steve deserves answers. 

Bucky nods and takes a seat on the couch. “Let’s talk, then,” he says, patting the cushion beside him to indicate that Steve should sit, too. 

When Steve sits, he takes a few moments to think over what he should say. He stares down at his fingers and tries to think of how to articulate every emotion he’s been feeling over the past few months. 

He starts off with a simple, straight to the point question: “Why are you always...with women? And then you come home and you kiss me?” 

Bucky sighs. He knew this question was coming, but he still hates hearing Steve say it. 

“People....talk.” 

Steve waits for Bucky to explain, but he doesn’t. 

“Yeah? About what?” He prods. 

Bucky starts to shift in his seat, can’t seem to get comfortable anymore. 

“Me. You. Us.” 

“Right. Us,” Steve understands what Bucky means, but he doesn’t want to. He hates the implications that statement has. 

“I just don’t want...I don’t know. Are we..?”

Steve doesn’t know if Bucky is asking if they’re _homosexuals_ , that filthy word that always gets thrown around, or if he’s asking if they’re lovers. Either way, he simply responds with “yes.” 

“What would my parents think?” Bucky sinks back into the couch. “They were always talking about my future wife and all the grandbabies I could give them.” 

“Hey,” Steve cups Bucky’s cheek, forces him to look him in the eyes. “I know for a fact they’d still love you. This doesn’t change anything.” 

Bucky wants to believe that. So he does. He lets out a sigh of relief before he’s gently cupping Steve’s face and kissing him, gently at first, and then earnestly. 

When it ends, they don’t pretend it never happened. For the first time, they let themselves hold one another as they embrace this new beginning. 

Bucky doesn’t let the things he overhears at work bother him, and Steve doesn’t let his pride get in the way of being loved and cared for. So Bucky stops dancing and making out with random dames, and Steve stops putting his walls up.

**Author's Note:**

> I won’t even lie to you, this fic went in a completely different direction than planned. I don’t even know what happened. But I really really love it and I hope you did too!  
> 


End file.
